The Kids Are Alright
by Sir Gawaine
Summary: Four Times Malcolm Helped Out A Junior Colleague and One Time That One Of Them Helped Him.


**A/N – Ok, so I was thinking that I have been writing quite heavy stuff lately and maybe I should write some fluff. In hindsight, that was a silly thought because I cannot write fluff. It is known. So instead, you can have this. Some of it might be a bit fluffy, I don't really know. Bonus points if you spot the geek reference.**

_**1. Zoe**_

They were fast approaching hour forty-nine of the op and Malcolm was exhausted. They had been chasing a group of disgruntled IRA veterans armed with sniper rifles through the streets of London for two days, picking the men up one at a time and utterly failing to get the identities of the others from them before the reports of the next victims came in. So far, sixteen people had been murdered and twelve injured and Harry was close to blowing a gasket. He had something personal with the IRA, of course. Malcolm wasn't sure any of the others knew about _that. _

Skirting around Harry and Tessa, who was trying and failing to calm him down, Malcolm spotted the new recruit, Zoe, at her desk. The poor woman had joined them only three days before and now here she was, in the middle of a complete nightmare of an op. She looked thoroughly out of her depth, surrounded by piles of papers that were taking her hours to sort through. Continuing on his trip to the kitchen, Malcolm took an extra mug from the cupboard. He had come to make himself and Colin some tea but it wouldn't hurt to extend an olive branch, especially when Zoe so clearly needed it.

On the way back to his station, he placed the mug gently on her desk and dropped a packet of biscuits next to it. She looked up in surprise, her eyes marked with dark circles, and she tried to smile.

"Thank you, Malcolm."

"You have to keep your strength up. Eat. Trust me."

The satisfactory rustle of the packet being opened behind him brought a small smile to his lips.

Finally, four more hours after that, Tom and Danny came stumbling back onto the Grid, all of the gunmen having been rounded up, and Harry ordered everyone to go home and sleep. Malcolm called taxis for them all, everyone too tired to drive, and stayed behind to put some files in order before he left.

He thought he was the last on the Grid, so he was surprised when he crossed the floor and saw Zoe fast asleep at her desk, exhaustion having finally got the better of her. He padded softly towards her and shook her shoulder, careful not to startle her.

"Zoe? It's time to go home."

She blinked uncomprehendingly at him and then her eyes widened and she blushed.

"Oh, I can't believe I fell asleep, I can-"

"It's quite alright," Malcolm said, "You're not the first. Come on. I have a taxi outside. We can drop you off."

She shrugged into her coat and yawned widely, the yawn turning into the loveliest smile.

"Thank you, Malcolm. You're very kind."

"Think nothing of it."

_**2. Danny**_

Tom was naïve if he thought that making Colin and Danny shake hands would be enough to soothe the frayed nerves that had caused their argument but then, Malcolm reasoned, Tom was really very distracted by the whole EERIE business. Malcolm had been in the game for long enough that he still had an inkling that this might be a very elaborate training exercise, but that inkling was dying a painful death for every moment longer that they were trapped on the Grid.

Colin really had a frightful temper when he thought that someone was in the wrong and he was still seething even after Tom separated him from Danny. Malcolm liked Danny well enough, thought that he was a little bit reckless and even, at times, a complete idiot, but he did not want to see him on the wrong end of Colin's bad mood. It wasn't his fault he had been let in through the pods, whatever Colin said. Tom and Harry had made the decision, not Danny, and it was their decision to live with.

Quietly, Malcolm dragged Colin away from the main area of the Grid and towards their lair at the back, laying a reassuring hand on his arm and forcing him gently into a chair.

"It's not Danny's fault," Malcolm said quietly, sliding into his own chair and fixing Colin with the most certain looking stare he could muster, "He was late but they didn't have to let him in."

"Why are you protecting him?" Colin said moodily, playing with a screwdriver that was close to hand, "You know he's a prat, just as much as I do."

"A prat that you invited to join you on a riverboat this weekend," Malcolm said lightly, "A prat that until twenty minutes ago you called a friend."

Colin flushed red and ducked his head, looking up at Malcolm from under his eyelashes, "You're really irritating sometimes, you know that?"

"I do. No more violent outbursts please. If this is the end of the world, this isn't how you want to be remembered, is it?"

Colin shook his head reluctantly, a sad smile spreading over his face.

"Do you know where your towel is, Malcolm?"

Malcolm fought a sudden urge to burst into tears.

"I don't. We'll just have to muddle on, won't we?"

_**3. Sam**_

The gunshot resonated through his headphones and Malcolm ripped them off, searching the faces of his colleagues as though they might tell him that he had heard wrong, that Danny had not just been executed. He found no comfort there; Ruth's eyes were filled with tears, Harry's eyes squeezed shut, Colin and Zaf looking like they might be sick.

And Sam – she had stood up at the sound of the gun and now she was swaying on her feet and then her legs went from under her and Malcolm moved, moved much more quickly than he knew he could, and caught her before she hit the ground. He lowered her carefully to the floor and knelt beside her, feeling the rest of the team crowd around behind him.

"Sam?" he said awkwardly, not used to playing the hero, "Sam, are you alright?"

"Oh, Malcolm," she breathed, "He's dead, isn't he?"

And then she burst into tears, keeping a strong grip on his hands. Malcolm looked around helplessly, reddening as he made eye contact with the others, but reluctant to leave the poor girl. Ruth knelt down beside him and started to talk to Sam, trying to calm her down. Harry had already removed himself, unable perhaps to deal with the tears. Ruth's gentle voice didn't help and, in the end, Zaf called down to medical and asked them to come and collect her.

She was still sobbing when the team arrived and lifted her onto a stretcher, telling Ruth quietly that they would sedate her once they got her down to medical. Sam heard them and her eyes snapped open and she panted, her breathing awkward and strained.

"I want Malcolm to come with me. Please."

The med-team nodded their consent and Malcolm, colouring around the ears at the thought of being the colleague she should choose, walked with them to the evacuation pod. Sam still had hold of his hand, her grip less painful now, and Malcolm felt so desperately sorry for her. Danny was the first colleague she had lost like this and he knew the pair of them had been close. He remembered his own first death and repressed a shudder. He didn't need to think about that now, not when a young man he admired had been taken so pointlessly.

In medical, Sam was moved over to a bed and the in-house doctor came over with the sedative. Her sobs had quietened but her breathing was on the point of being hysterical and Malcolm found himself reaching over and brushing her hair back from her forehead.

"It's alright, Sam," he murmured, "You can sleep for a while now. I'm here."

She didn't answer but he thought that she had heard him, and when the doctor slipped the needle into her arm, she was asleep in seconds, her hold on his hand finally relaxing.

He sat with her for a little while, trying not to think of Danny, and then he left quietly, to go back to work and to try and find Fiona. With a last look at Sam, he sighed heavily.

She wouldn't last in this job, not if she reacted like that. She would never even have a chance to prove herself.

He had lost two colleagues the moment Danny was murdered.

_**4. Zaf**_

It was a rare occasion indeed when young Zafar looked anything but chipper and good-humoured. On this evening though, a little after eight pm, he looked thoroughly perturbed, staring down at his desk as though it alone was responsible for half of the problems in the known universe. Malcolm wasn't very good at counselling people, he usually left that to Adam or Ruth, but as he and Zaf were the only ones left, he thought that perhaps he should give it a try.

"What's wrong, Zaf?" he asked, approaching the desk carefully and perching in what he hoped was a nonchalant way on the edge of it, "You look thoroughly hacked off."

Zaf looked up, a ghost of his usual smile flitting across his lips, and then he shrugged.

"It's silly really, nothing to be getting upset about."

"But you are upset. Can I help you?"

"I've got Harry in the bloody Secret Santa," Zaf said miserably, "And I have no idea what to get him."

Ah, the Secret Santa, HR's attempt to make MI5 more like a 'civilian workplace'. Harry had railed against the idea, remarking that his people didn't have time for such childish pursuits, that they were busy doing useful things and that HR should try and find something useful to do as well, to justify their existence.

As was usual with these sorts of things, HR had won.

Malcolm already had his gift sorted, a rare Matchbox car for Colin to add to his collection. It hadn't been fair really, that he should get his best friend in the draw, but that's the way these things worked. Poor Zaf though really seemed to have drawn the short straw. No one knew Harry. At least, it suddenly occurred to him, no one knew Harry quite like Malcolm knew Harry.

"Do you trust me, Zafar?"

"Of course I do. Why?"

"Leave Harry's gift to me. Call it a favour."

Zaf's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, and Malcolm thought it was worth helping him just to see that irrepressible grin instead of the melancholy.

Two days later, when the gifts were exchanged and Harry opened a miniature bottle of Glenfiddich Eighteen Year Reserve whisky and actually exclaimed out loud, Malcolm knew he had got it right. He had a friend who owed him a favour, a friend who made it his business to know where to get rare whisky and scotch and who was willing to part with this for a very reasonable price. Harry clapped Zaf on the shoulder, smiling broadly, his distaste for Secret Santa forgotten, and Malcolm caught Zaf's eye and winked.

Definitely worth it, not least to see Harry smiling too.

_**+1. Jo**_

She and Zafar came to collect him, on the morning of Colin's memorial. She said that she didn't want him to have to worry about getting himself there, not when they could easily drive him.

Zaf drove the car and Jo sat in the back next to him, letting him stare out of the window and saying nothing to try and talk him out of his sadness. Malcolm was grateful for that, grateful that today perhaps they would let him just be. He imagined that Jo felt guilty, guilty for having not been there for him when Colin died. She was trying to make up for that by looking after him today and, although he knew that should irritate him, it didn't.

At the church, Jo remained at his side and Malcolm became vaguely aware that she was deflecting the attention from him, subtly moving people on who might have tried to come and talk to him, to offer their condolences. He felt another rush of gratitude. He didn't want to talk to people today. He wanted to rage against the unfairness of it all and he wanted to hit someone and he wanted to cry. He could do only one of those things and it was the one thing he also did not want to do.

Eventually, Zaf's voice cut through the fog.

"Come on, Malcolm. Time to go in."

They sat in a row, the whole team. Harry on the end, then Ruth, Malcolm, Jo, Zaf, Adam. Malcolm was never in the middle. He was usually on the edge of things, watching. No such luck today and, to be honest, he preferred it. Here, between the people he trusted the most, he felt almost safe.

Harry stood to do the reading that Malcolm had chosen and he was pleased that he had asked the other man. Harry spoke with a strong, unwavering voice. His only sign of weakness was a barely perceptible shaking of his hands. Malcolm would have broken down, like he was now. The tears he did not want to cry fought their way out and rolled down his face and he kept watching Harry, pretending that he wasn't losing control.

Then he felt a small, warm hand slip under his and hold it tightly, and Jo leaned slightly on his shoulder and squeezed his hand.

_I'm here, _she was saying, the first thing she had said all morning, _I'm here._

Feeling a rush of affection, Malcolm squeezed back.

_I know._

_Thank you._


End file.
